by Stuart Woods
“Good point. How did Dimitri’s customers contact him?”
“He had the usual paper trail of a solid citizen—property, utilities, bank account, investment account. He had half a dozen cars registered in his name. He wouldn’t be hard to find for anybody who had his name.”
“There’s another possibility on Sergei,” Joe Rossi said. “He could have been living and working in another country—Russia, the Ukraine, Eastern Europe.”
“Then check with Interpol,” the captain said. “Check with immigration, too, see if he entered the country recently.” He handed back the photograph. “See if the FBI can use their software to age the kid. Maybe we’ll get something we can circulate.”
“We’re on it, sir,” Carlos replied. The meeting broke up, and he and Joe went to work.
• • •
TEDDY SET DOWN the Mustang at Santa Monica Airport as the sun was sinking into the Pacific, then taxied to the hangar, chocked the airplane, and transferred their bags to his car, parked in the hangar.
“So, where are we vacationing?” Sally asked, as they drove out of the hangar, leaving the airplane to be put away by a lineman with a tractor.
“Wait and see,” he said. He took the I-10, then the I-405 to Sunset Boulevard, then drove to Stone Canyon Road and turned left, passing the Bel-Air Hotel. A couple of minutes later they were at the gate to the Arrington.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Barnett,” the guard said, looking at his driver’s license. “They’re expecting you at the Barrington cottage. Do you know the way?”
“I do, thanks.” He drove up the hill and came to a stop in front of the house.
“Cottage?” Sally asked, looking at the house.
“That’s what very rich people call big houses,” Teddy said. A butler appeared, introduced himself, and got their things inside and upstairs.
“All the comforts of home,” Sally said, looking around their spacious room. “Who does this belong to?”
“Stone Barrington,” Teddy said. “We had dinner with him last night, remember?”
“Of course I do. Is there a pool?”
“A very nice one,” Teddy replied.
“Do I need a swimsuit?”
“Take a robe, just in case. Once there, you’re safe, except from me.”
Sally started peeling off clothes.
• • •
CARLOS AND JOE sat at a large computer monitor with a split screen. On one side was an Interpol photograph of Sergei Kasov; on the other, the FBI aging of his childhood photo.
“Pretty good software, huh?” Joe said. “Without the hair, he’s a ringer for the real guy.”
“Born Leningrad, thirty-nine years ago,” Carlos read from his sheet. “Educated in a private academy associated with the KGB, then on to their college. A full-fledged agent from the age of twenty-one until the breakup of the Soviet Union, then a freelancer.”
“Good training for a killer,” Joe replied. He typed the name into the Immigration & Naturalization database. “Entered the country at L.A. International a week ago,” he read. “He must have been staying with his brother.”
“There’s a team out there now, taking apart the trailer.”
“He must have gotten the gun from Dimitri. He could be driving one of his cars, too. Run Dimitri’s name through the DMV database and see if there’s a car missing from his collection.”
Joe did some typing. “Here we go—a two-year-old Prius. Lots of those in L.A. I’ll add the plates to the APB.”
“This guy’s not going to last long,” Carlos said. “We’ve got him bracketed, now.”
• • •
TEDDY AND SALLY had a good dinner in Stone’s study and drank some wine. “You sleepy?” she asked him.
“Not yet. You go on to bed, I’ll be up in a while.” He gave her time to get to sleep, then he went outside, got into the car, and drove out to Malibu. He drove slowly past his house, and a couple of doors down, he saw something he had never seen in his immediate neighborhood: a BMW motorcycle. He drove down to the Village, then turned around and drove back. The motorcycle was gone. He made a U-turn and went back to the restaurant where he and Sally had dined a few nights ago. He parked in their lot, then went into the restaurant and out onto their deck, from which there was access to the beach.
He walked down the beach toward his house. He walked past it, looking for unwanted company, but saw only one couple walking barefoot on the wet sand. Then he doubled back. He pressed a hidden switch under his deck, and a staircase came down. At the bottom he took off his shoes and climbed the stairs. He paused where his head was level with the deck, then stood, watching and listening for any sign of anybody at his property. He saw and heard nothing.
Satisfied, he went up the stairs and let himself in through the sliding door.
• • •
CARLOS E-MAILED THE PHOTO and sheet to Regan and Grover. “The picture will help with the APB. All we have to do now is wait for him to be picked up.”
52
THE LIVING ROOM was well lit by moonlight, and he stood in a corner shadow while he listened for any sign of movement in the house. He slowly closed the sliding door and waited for another couple of minutes.
Finally, he took a small flashlight from a kitchen drawer and stepped out of the living room into a hallway. He stopped and listened again, then proceeded with caution into the master bedroom, checking the closet. He pushed aside the clothes on the rack and opened the wall safe. He took out some cash, then slipped into a shoulder holster and stuck a small 9mm pistol into that, checking it first for a full magazine. He pumped a round into the chamber, then set the safety, then he chose a lightweight jacket and slipped it on to cover the weapon. He slipped on the loafers holding the two short knives, then stuck an extra couple of pistol magazines in a hip pocket. Teddy wasn’t sure why: he had never required more than two rounds to resolve a situation.
Thus fortified, he let himself out the sliding doors, set his other shoes inside, locked up, and went back down to the beach. Still watching the shadows for company, he made his way back to the restaurant and his car. The BMW motorcycle he had seen earlier was in the parking lot, near the road.
He had a good look at the machine, then went back inside the restaurant, stood near the door, and had a look around. It was a fairly busy night and he took time to check the occupants of each table, then turned his attention to the bar. His scan stopped on a leather jacket, worn by a thickly built bald man whose back was turned as he chatted to a woman on the stool beside him.
Teddy walked to the end of the bar and took a seat; the bartender recognized him and started toward him. Teddy held a finger to his lips, and the bartender nodded.
“Evening, sir. Can I get you something?” the bartender said softly.
“Macallan 12 on the rocks,” Teddy whispered, and the drink was brought. He checked the mirrors around the bar, but he could not see the man’s face; he’d just have to wait for him to turn around. He placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar in anticipation of his departure and waited. As he did, the woman holding the man’s attention said something to him, then got up and walked toward the ladies’ room.
Teddy stared at the back of the man’s head. Then, slowly the bald head turned toward Teddy and his eyes locked onto him. Both men held their gaze without flinching. Both knew immediately who they were looking at.
Teddy hoisted a foot and slipped a knife from his heel, then he got up and left the restaurant. He waited for the man to follow, but he did not. Teddy walked over to the motorcycle and quickly slashed both tires, then he got into his car and pulled out of the lot. As he did, he checked his rearview mirror and saw the man come out the front door, look around, then walk toward the motorcycle.
“Have fun with that,” Teddy said aloud as he drove away.
He got back to the Arrington and was soon in bed beside Sally,
who was snoring lightly.
• • •
CARLOS AND JOE were working late when the call came in.
“Rivera,” he said.
“Detective, this is Dispatch. A patrol car just called in a location for the Prius you’re looking for.”
“Where is it?”
“In the parking lot of Malibu Village, outside the grocery store.”
“Tell them not to touch it but to observe from a distance until I get there,” Carlos replied. He hung up. “We’ve got the Prius,” he said to Rossi. “Let’s go.”
• • •
DAX BAXTER GOT out of the limo in his driveway and said good night to his screenwriter, Hal Palmer. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” he said. “Sorry about the abrupt return, but there’s something I’ve got to take care of here.”
The car drove away. A car that had been following them pulled into his driveway, and Baxter used his remote to open the garage so the two men could put their car inside. He let them into the house through the garage door to the inside, and checked the alarm box for any attempted entries. None. Then he took the two men to the kitchen. “Make yourselves at home here. Take anything you want from the fridge.”
“Thank you, sir,” one of them said. “We’ll check the house, inside and out, before we do.”
Baxter went into his study and poured himself a drink, then he called Chita.
“Hello, boss.”
“Hi, I’m back from Santa Fe, and I’ll be in tomorrow morning, usual time.”
“Got it.” They both hung up.
• • •
RIVERA AND ROSSI turned into the Malibu Village parking lot and drove slowly around it once, passing the Prius. Farther along, they passed a patrol car backed into an alley between two shops, its lights out, and Rivera flashed his own lights to let them know he was there. He then parked fifty feet from the Prius, facing the market, so they could see the whole area. His cell rang. “Rivera,” he said.
“Hey, it’s Chita.”
“Hey, there,” he replied, then covered the phone. “Give me a minute, will you?” he said to Rossi.
“I’ll go talk to the uniforms,” Rossi replied, and got out of the car.
“You back yet?” she asked.
“Yeah, but I’m working.”
“I just got a call from Dax. He’s back in town, and he’ll be at work tomorrow morning.”
“Did he say why he came back so soon?”
“No, but he sounded pretty calm. He was very nervous when I spoke to him before I left. You want dinner here tomorrow night?”
“I’d love to, but let me call you tomorrow afternoon and confirm. We’re working a case almost constantly.”
“Something to do with Dax?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”
“Bye-bye.” They hung up.
Rossi got back in the car. “They’ve been here about forty-five minutes,” he said. “They don’t know what time the car was parked.”
Rivera pointed at the little theater. “Maybe he’s taking in a movie,” he said.
“Could be.”
Dispatch called them on the radio.
“This is Rivera.”
“We got another call from Malibu Village,” the operator said. “A motorcycle, BMW, reported stolen from the same lot where the Prius is.”
“Roger. Over and out.” He replaced the microphone.
“You think our boy abandoned the Prius and stole the motorcycle?” Rossi asked.
“Possibly,” Rivera said. “Let’s take a ride down to Billy Barnett’s house. Call the patrol car and ask them to stay on here and to apprehend the driver of the Prius if he turns up.”
They got as far as the beach restaurant, when Rossi said, “BMW motorcycle on your right.”
They parked and walked over to the machine. “The right plates,” Rivera said.
“Well, look at that,” Rossi said, pointing. “Two slashed tires.”
53
TEDDY WAS NEARLY asleep when he heard his cell phone vibrate. He got out of bed, picked it up, and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barnett, I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of the evening, but—”
“Who is this?” Teddy asked.
“This is the LAPD, Detective Sergeant Rivera. We spoke in Santa Fe. As I said, I’m sorry to wake you but—”
“I’m going to hang up now,” Teddy said.
“Shut up and listen to me!” Rivera said. “Your life is in danger.”
Teddy sighed. “All right, tell me something I don’t know.”
“Are you aware that Dimitri Kasov has a younger brother?”
“Who’s Dimitri Kasov?”
“You know goddamned well who he is,” Rivera said. “His younger brother, Sergei, shot two LAPD homicide detectives in their car, murdering one of them, and this afternoon he shot my partner.”
“Where did this happen?” Teddy asked.
“In an Airstream trailer at a trailer park quite near your house, belonging to Dimitri. So he’s in your neighborhood.”
“Go on.”
“He took a Prius from his brother’s place, then drove it to Malibu Village and abandoned it, then stole a BMW motorcycle. We found the motorcycle in a restaurant parking lot near your house with both tires slashed. I think you slashed them.”
Teddy said nothing.
“Sergei Kasov was not in the restaurant, and I believe that he may have walked down the beach to your house. Are you at home?”
“No,” Teddy replied.
“That’s good news. My partner and I would like to enter your house.”
“I thought you said your partner was shot this afternoon.”
“He was, but he was not seriously wounded. I have two questions for you. One, may I have your permission to enter your house to see if Kasov is there?”
“What’s your second question?”
“If I may do that, is there some method by which I can enter your house quietly without a key?”
Teddy thought for a moment. “No, but there is a key concealed near the front door. When I was last there, I forgot to arm the alarm system.”
“May I have your permission to enter your house?”
“Oh, all right, you can go inside. The key is in a fake rock, on a pile of rocks about eight feet to the right of the front door. The lock turns very quietly. The front hall leads directly to the living room, which overlooks a deck and the beach. Master bedroom is to the left, open kitchen to the right. A spare room is beyond the kitchen. Got that?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Listen to me, Detective. That man is very dangerous, and you should not go in there without serious backup.”
There was no response.
“Detective Rivera?” The man had hung up. “Shit!” Teddy quickly got into some clothes, slipped on his loafers and his shoulder holster, and left the sleeping Sally there. He got into the car and aimed it at Malibu. Traffic was light at this hour: he could make it quickly, if the cops didn’t give chase. He left through the main gate and turned into Stone Canyon Road, then floored the car. He had to slow to make the first couple of turns, but after turning onto Sunset Boulevard he drove as fast as he could, running every light. On the straightaways, he was topping a hundred mph.
• • •
RIVERA AND ROSSI parked their car three houses down from Billy Barnett’s address and walked carefully down the paved road, avoiding the noise of the graveled edges. Rivera found the fake rock containing the key and moved very quietly to the front door. He put his ear to the wood panel and listened for the better part of a minute, then gave Rossi a thumbs-up and put his finger to his lips, which was unnecessary. He carefully inserted the key and slowly turned it, until he felt the bolt retract, t
hen he opened the door a couple of inches and stood still, listening. All he could hear was the waves coming in at the rear of the house.
Both detectives drew their weapons, armed them, and entered the residence.
Rossi waited until they were abreast of the kitchen, then pointed at himself, then to the hallway leading to the master bedroom.
Rivera gave him a thumbs-up, then made a tamping motion with his free hand. Take it easy.
Rivera turned and assumed a combat position, aiming down the hallway toward the bedroom. He could just make out Rossi’s broad back. Then he heard a muffled thump, and suddenly Rossi was running backward toward him, taking up most of the hallway.
Rivera tried to aim past him but could see nothing. Then Rossi struck him, and he fell backward into the kitchen. As he struggled to get up, he heard another thump, and it was as if someone had punched him hard in the middle of his body. He fell onto his back, his weapon pointing toward the hallway, and got off two rounds.
Then he heard a door open and, a moment later, a garage door opening. A car started and drove away from the house, burning rubber.
• • •
TEDDY TURNED FROM SUNSET onto the Pacific Coast Highway and let the Porsche have its head. He passed a couple of cars, then saw one coming toward him in time to get back into the right lane. He saw the star in a Mercedes grille as it passed, going very fast. A moment later he was at his house: the garage door was open and Sally’s Mercedes convertible was gone.
Teddy wanted to give chase, but he had to get inside the house. He pulled into the garage and saw that the door into the house was open. He got out of the car, pulled the 9mm semiautomatic from its holster and flung himself into the hallway, stopped by the wall. He stood there for a moment, and he heard a moaning noise. He flipped a light switch and the living room lights came on.
One of the cops, the older one, Rossi, was lying on his back in the hallway, pumping blood through what looked like a knife wound to the chest. He took a step forward and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol.
